


the forest in your heart

by silvyri



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Angry!Human!Hermit!Hank, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Elf!Connor, GOOD BOY SUMO, Hank Big, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Oblivious Hank, connor is a bit of a slut, don't blame him he's been a hermit for six years, hank and his broad hairy chest and big belly gets connor going, hank doesn't know what to do, mentions of hank's past, mmm they're gonna bang in front of the fire place, no beta we die like men, theres a naked twink elf in his bed, unashamed abuse of weather conditions to get these two stuck in close quarters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: All Hank wants is to be left alone in his cabin with his dog and his whittling. He likes being a hermit. He doesn't like to think of the past.Too bad a pretty elf he rescues in the woods isn't going to let that happen.





	1. before the storm

There’s a storm coming.

Hank can just see the dark clouds on the horizon through the trees. They’re angry and roiling, driving him forward through the forest at a faster pace than normal. He needs to get home before it hits; the air smells of snow to come and the chances of him finding his way in the coming blizzard is slim.

“Come on boy,” Hank grunts, hefting the sack of firewood higher over his shoulder. Sumo trots loyally next to him, tongue lolling out as he pants, pulling his own load of firewood behind him on a little cart. “Almost home.”

Sumo _boofs_ quietly back at him as an answer, and then stops, his head quirking. Hank takes three steps before he notices, frowning. “What is it, Sumo?”

Sumo ignores him, drooping ears twitching, and turns to look behind him. He starts to growl, a deep warning sound in his chest.

Hank drops his sack of firewood and yanks his axe from his belt. He leans down, eyes on the forest, and unbuckles Sumo’s leather harness, freeing him from his cart. He needs to be free to run or attack, if need be. Hank hopes it’s neither, hopes Sumo has caught a stale scent of wolf or maybe deer, but his gut says otherwise. His gut says trouble.

Soon, what Sumo’s stronger canine ears heard reaches Hank’s poorer human ears. Yelling, and someone, some _ones_ , crashing through the forest. Sumo’s growl loudens but he doesn’t bark, Hank has trained him too well for that, and his hackles raise.

“Shh, Sumo,” Hank whispers. Hopefully whoever is making all this racket will pass by their position none the wiser, and Hank can go living his quiet, solitary life with his dog, just the way he likes it.

Of course, Hank has never had the best luck.

The noises grow louder, and the shouts slowly turn into words, angry and fierce, full of swearing and vows of vengeance. Hank contemplates hiding, but Sumo’s cart is hard to conceal, and there aren’t many hiding spots in this part of the forest. He’s a big guy as well, he’s not going to just be able to hide behind a tree, and neither is Sumo. He just waits, axe at the ready, Sumo’s sharp teeth bared in the cold air.

A figure bursts through the trees. Hank starts, brandishing his axe as the person runs right for him, but Sumo doesn’t attack, and it takes a split second for Hank to realise what he’s seeing.

It’s a boy- _man?_ \- and his eyes are big and brown and wild, and he has blood smeared across his mouth and cheek, bruises and cuts across his face and down his chest where his shirt has been ripped away, clinging desperately to his slim shoulders. His hands are tied behind him, but even with the restraints his stride isn’t awkward, he’s fast and graceful as he careens right into Hank’s chest.

“Please, help me-” the man pleads as Hank lowers his axe. His eyes stare up, desperate, and then he looks back over his shoulder, and Hank’s heart skips a beat when his eyes are drawn to the tips of the man’s ears. They’re pointed.

“What the fu-” The rest of Hank’s curse is drowned out as three men burst through the trees, and the man, _elf_ , makes a low, terrified sound. It isn’t even a decision at this point, Hank pushes the elf behind him, hefting his axe higher. One of those bruises and cuts had been _teeth marks_ , high on the elf’s shoulder. “Stay behind me.”

The three men stop in their tracks as they take in Hank’s height and size, the massive growling dog at his side, the glint of Hank’s axe in the grey light and Sumo’s sharp, intimidating teeth.

“Old man, this doesn’t have to get nasty, just hand over the elf and we’ll be on our way,” one of the men snarls. He has awful yellow teeth and greasy hair. Hank can smell him from metres away already.

“You’re right, this doesn’t have to get nasty,” Hank agrees. He doesn’t hand the elf over.

One of the men takes a step closer. He has blood dripping from his mouth; Hank’s blood runs cold when he sees that his lip has been bitten by someone else. Sumo’s growl deepens, menacing.

“That dog is fucking mad, got rabies or somethin’,” the guy who took the step takes it back.

“Call off your attack dog,” yellow teeth demands, drawing a knife, and Hank doesn’t even grace that with an answer other than lifting his brow.

The men are nervous, now. At Hank’s unwavering calmness, or at the fact Sumo has slowly started to stalk forward.

“It’s not worth it,” the third guy whispers fiercely, as if Hank can’t hear him.

“Listen to him, looks like he’s got the brains of the lot of you,” Hank rumbles.

Yellow teeth brandishes his knife, but he’s eyeing Sumo fearfully as the dog lowers himself to the ground, looking ready to pounce on some prey. Drool drips from his jaws onto the dead leaves of the forest floor. His growl sounds like thunder.

“Fuck this,” the man with blood dripping down his face turns tail and runs back into the forest. The guy with the brains quickly follows, and when Sumo starts to bark yellow teeth finally makes a good decision and turns back as well.

“Go, Sumo,” Hank grunts, and Sumo is off after them, barking madly. Judging from the screaming, he catches up quickly. Those men aren’t going to be coming back in a hurry.

But Hank hasn’t survived out here on his own this long by turning his back on a potential danger. He keeps an ear out and eyes trained on the trees until Sumo comes back, jaw stained red, and parks his butt at Hank’s feet, panting happily, docile and friendly again now the danger has passed. A sure sign that the men are gone, chased off for good.

“Good boy,” Hank praises, and turns around to survey the elf that he’s saved.

The elf is still wide-eyed and pale, and now that Hank’s getting a good look, wane and harrowed looking. Well, Hank hasn’t seen many elves in his time to know whether or not the elf looks normal for his kind, but he doesn’t look healthy. The blood and bruises aren’t making his condition look any better, and Hank watches as he tries to take a step backwards and stumbles, swaying. All the grace from before is gone.

The elf’s brown eyes are stuck on Hank’s axe, still held high.

“Shit-” Hank grunts and sticks it back into his belt, showing his hands. “I’m not gonna hurt ya’.”

The brown eyes flick to Sumo, who looks up innocently, tongue lolling. The picture of harmless, friendly puppy is ruined from the blood staining his fur and teeth.

“He ain’t gonna hurt you either,” Hank says quietly, lowering one of his hands slowly to give Sumo a pat. “Sumo only bites men who deserve it, otherwise he’s a big ole softie.”

The elf is beginning to look calmer. “Thank you,” he says, his voice soft, his accent strange to Hank’s ears. But before Hank can reply the elf’s eyes roll up into his head and he drops to the ground in a dead faint.

Hank eyes the prone body. “Well, shit.”

~~~

After quickly checking the elf over to see if there are wounds that need to be tended to immediately and finding none, Hank loads a little more of his own firewood onto Sumo’s cart and lifts the elf over his shoulder. The elf weighs less than he looks, which honestly isn’t much in the first place, so Hank doesn’t struggle making it the last mile home with an unexpected load as much as he thought.

The wind is picking up just as Hank comes into the clearing surrounding his little log cabin. He dumps his bag of firewood outside the door, tells Sumo he’ll be right back, and heads in.

Inside is messy as it always is and smelling strongly of dog and man and cured meat. Hank lowers the elf onto his bed, feeling vaguely sorry for the stained sheets and dirty furs, but figures the elf would prefer it more than being laid out on Hank’s grimy table. Cargo unloaded, he heads back outside to unfasten Sumo from his cart, pour Sumo some water and load the firewood into the shed out back. He needs to work fast before the weather truly turns to shit and renders the dry wood wet and unusable.

It’s just starting to rain as Hank stacks the last piece. Job done, he trudges back around to the front of his cabin and whistles for Sumo. The dog comes bounding to him from sniffing around the edges of the clearing and brushes past Hank inside as he holds open the door.

Hank closes the heavy wooden door against the strengthening wind and locks it for good measure. Turning around, he eyes the limp body lying on his bed.

“What the hell am I going to do with you,” he grunts. When the elf doesn’t magically sit up and answer, he heaves a sigh and takes his heavy overcoat off, hanging it up on it’s hook on the back of the door.

First things first, Hank cuts the ropes from the elf’s slim wrists, wincing at the welts the rough bindings leave behind. He then yanks the elf’s boots off, taking a second to note that they’re exceedingly well made and looked after, but in scruffy condition, muddy and battered, probably from being held captive for a while. The rest of his clothes are in that state as well, dark green leggings smart but dirty and ragged, and his shirt was probably once pristine white and pressed primly, but is now ripped and stained and beyond repair. Hank strips the elf of it and throws it off to the side, Sumo trotting over and sniffing it curiously. Clothing out of the way, Hank wets a cloth and wipes the dried blood and dirt from the elf’s pale skin, rinsing the cuts so sickness doesn’t take root, the bruising and that damn bite mark making him clench his teeth. It doesn’t matter that the elf isn’t human, no living being should’ve been through what he’d been through. Hank makes it down to the waistband of his leggings and goes no further; he doesn’t think the elf would appreciate it.

Impromptu sponge bath over, Hank roughly bandages the welts ringing the elf’s wrists and yanks some furs over the elf so he doesn’t freeze. The room is starting to chill from the weather worsening outside and Hank stokes the fire in the massive fireplace, adding more wood as fuel. He pours himself a drink and drops his body into his chair in front of the fire, frowning over at the still unconscious elf. Sumo comes and lies at his feet, sighing a big dog sigh as the heat from the fire warms his fur.

During giving the elf a rub down, Hank had noticed that he’d been uncannily still. His chest hardly moved with breath and he’d been so pale, if Hank hadn’t looked closer he would’ve thought the elf dead. The only other sign of life was a flush to his cheeks and the pinkness of his lips and nipples, which Hank had tried in vain to ignore. The elf definitely wouldn’t want someone ogling over his unconscious body after his ordeal, but damn, Hank is old and grouchy, yes, but he isn’t fucking blind yet. The elf is beautiful.

 _Fucking stop it, you pervy old man_ , Hank thinks and takes a deep drink from his mug. The liquor burns down his throat and warms his insides nicely.

All he can do now is wait for the elf to wake.

~~~

A loud bang wakes Hank abruptly from his sleep. He jolts upright in his chair and curses as his mug drops from his hand, fumbling for it and catching it before it hits the wooden floor.

When he straights back up he freezes. The elf is awake, sitting up and staring at him with shining brown eyes as he slowly pats Sumo’s ears, the big dog’s tail wagging happily from where he’s lying across the elf’s lap.

“Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Hank grunts, running a rough hand over his beard.

“I’m sorry,” the elf says in his strange, lilting accent, his voice soft and very different from what Hank has ever heard. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

“Yeah well, ya did.”

The elf tilts his head, brown curls tumbling over his forehead. From all the stories of elves Hank has heard he thought all elves had long flowing locks braided with flowers and gemstones and other sparkly shit, but the elf’s hair is short and messy and grubby.

“I owe you a great debt for driving those human men off,” the elf says carefully. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Uncomfortable with gratitude, Hank just grunts again. “Yeah, well, couldn’t back down or they would’ve stuck me with their silly little knives anyway.”

The elf frowns a little. “Are all human men so heroic?”

“Uh-” Hank starts before he realises the glint in the elf’s eyes is humour. He doesn’t know what to reply with; for a long time all he’s had to talk to on a stable basis is Sumo so he’s fallen out of the skills of making conversation. So he just settles with a stunted, “no?”

The elf blinks at him and looks down at Sumo, who’s panting happily as he gets scratched behind his ears. “What’s his name?” The elf asks.

“Uh- Sumo.”

The elf smiles. “Sumo. A very good name for a very good dog. You’re a very brave and noble boy, aren’t you, yes you are,” the elf coos, squishing Sumo’s floppy jowls in his hands, and Hank doesn’t know what to think. He has a battered elf in his home, in his bed, patting his dog and making baby noises at him and acting very unelf-like in Hank’s opinion. What is his life even.

“And may I ask your name?” The elf looks up at Hank as he speaks.

“Hank,” Hank grunts, not bothering to give his last name.

The elf looks thoughtful as he repeats Hank’s name back at him, rolling the sounds over on his tongue, making Hank’s name sound like something exotic and strange. “A strong name. It suits you.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say about that. Luckily, he’s saved form having to think something up by the elf continuing to talk. “My name is Connor.”

“Doesn’t sound very elf-like,” Hank states. He was expecting something more like _Moonbeam_ or _Greenleaf_ or _Naeryndam Daemoira Yinthyra_ _Sundrop_ , something ridiculous and long and poncy, not a common name like Connor.

The elf smiles again. “My true name is quite a mouthful for humans to pronounce, it’s a drawback to your language being primitive in sounds and words but easy to teach and learn. You’re more than welcome to try, it’s,” and then he proceeds to make a series of sounds with his mouth, some breathy and others full, and at some point even makes a strange little trill that Hank didn’t think he could ever replicate. After he finishes Hank feels like he’s just listened to a short, musical poem, one that he can’t even begin to make sense of.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna stick to Connor.”

The elf nods his head lightly in acknowledgement. “A good choice.”

“My only choice,” Hank says under his breath, but he’s pretty sure the elf- _Connor_ , hears him, judging from the little grin that he hides behind a slim hand.

“So uh, not like it’s any of my business, but what happened to-” Hank just makes a vague hand gesture towards Connor. “We don’t see many elves in these parts, and by that I mean none at all.”

Connor’s face falls, his lips drawing down as he looks away from Hank to stare out the window into the developing blizzard. “A flash flood separated me from my people as we were hunting. I couldn’t cross back over the river as it was too swollen, so I had to navigate around it, and it brought me into human lands that we don’t normally venture in to. When the men attacked me I was too tired and injured to them off, and then they kept me tied to one of their horses so I couldn’t sneak away.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Hank says awkwardly. What can he say?

The elf shrugs, playing with Sumo’s ears. “You didn’t cause the flooding. And it’s not your fault what they did to me. Unlike some of my people, I understand that a few men’s actions are not the actions of them all.”

“Well, I’m still fucking sorry,” Hank says, anyway, because Connor deserves an apology from somebody.

The elf smiles sadly. “I am as well.”

Hank coughs in the ensuing silence. “How did you get away?”

Connor presses his lips together, and Hank’s about to tell him that he doesn’t need to say anything, Hank’s just being a nosy bugger, but the elf keeps talking. “They were marching me towards a slave trader to sell me. Apparently elf-slaves are quite valuable. While they were taking lunch one of them pulled me away to-” his words falter, and Hank winces, but Connor takes a breath, gathering himself. “I don’t think they knew that defiling an elf that way causes us to wither and die. But I used the opportunity to kick him in his- family jewels, is what I believe you humans say. His yelling attracted the others and I ran. And that’s when I ran into you. If it weren’t for you and Sumo, they would’ve caught me, and my life would have been a short, awful affair.”

“Shit,” is Hank can say from his story. “You’re- you’re not going to what, wither away, are you?”

“No,” Connor says quietly. “I’m not.”

Hank heaves a relieved sigh.

~~~

It turns out the loud thump that woke Hank up was a heavy branch, broken off by the fierce winds and blown onto the roof. Hank braves the sleet and cold to check that it hasn’t damaged anything, and in the dimming light breathes a relieved breath when he sees nothing broken. The branch is too heavy for him to move by himself and he doesn’t want to stay out in the weather long enough to tie ropes around it and have Sumo help him, so he leaves it where it is and heads back inside.

The door slams behind him and Hank does a full body shake, causing snow to fly off his clothes and beard. Sumo pads up to greet him and Hank gives him a pat after taking off his boots and many layers, feeling his limbs beginning to thaw out from the cold from the warmth inside.

Hank turns around from hanging up his coat and stops in his tracks when he spots Connor, kneeling on the rug in front of the fire. His hair is lightly damp, drying fast and curling in the heat, and he’s just finishing off giving himself a more thorough sponge bath than Hank had given him when he’d been unconscious.

He’s also entirely naked.

“Holy shit,” Hank yelps, turning back around again and slapping a hand over his eyes for good measure. “Give a man a warning!”

When Connor replies, his voice is full of humour. “Hank, humans and elves are not that physically different, and we are both male. You’ve seen what I have before.”

 _No, I have_ **_not_**. Hank thinks fiercely. Connor, while still mottled with bruises and cuts, had been luminescent in the fire light, pale skin almost glowing, his limbs long and lean and strong, waist tiny and thighs soft and impossibly inviting. Hank doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to get the image of those beauty spots leading a trail down Connor’s back to his round, plump ass out of his mind. Hank has definitely never seen someone as gorgeous as Connor is.

“Still, I don’t want an eyeful of your elf-junk, Connor,” Hank says gruffly to cover the fact that he’s getting a little aroused. Connor laughs softly, and the sound, curling around Hank’s ears and making his stomach twist, doesn’t help matters.

“Humans are so hung up on strange things like modesty. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll put some clothes on.”

Hank doesn’t turn back around until he hears the rustle of clothes and Connor announces that he’s dressed. But when Hank does, Connor isn’t wearing his own clothes, he’s got Hank’s on, a pair of loose trousers pulled tight around his slim waist, a large linen shirt slipping off a shoulder and sleeves drooping around his hands.

Hank thinks _what the fuck_ and sends a quick prayer up to the Gods.

“I took the liberty of borrowing some of your clothes, since mine are unwearable and Sumo’s added them into his bed anyway. I hope you don’t mind, I tried to choose ones that didn’t look like you’d worn them in a while.”

“It’s fine,” Hank manages to say without sounding constipated, but he has to look over Connor’s shoulder because if he looks right at the elf he’s going to pop a boner because Connor pushes all his buttons, and Connor had just told him about how he’d been kidnapped and assaulted, and even though the elf doesn’t look traumatised it doesn’t mean that he isn’t and it’s not cool for Hank to do this, at all. And for fuck’s sake, Hank is pushing fifty, he can’t go getting a chubby like a randy stable boy seeing tits for the first time. He can control himself.

Connor smiles, all pretty pink lips and warm doe brown eyes and freckles and little dimples, and Hank heads right for his bottle of the good stuff. He needs a drink if he has to deal with this shit.

~~~

The sleet turns to heavy snow, the winds rattling the windows and howling around the corners of Hank’s little cabin. It quickly becomes dinner time and Connor insists on cooking as thanks for everything Hank has done for him.

Hank doesn’t put up much of a fight. He doesn’t really bother cooking much, reminds him too much of two bodies working together around a dinner table, a smaller one between them, hindering more than helping but so, so loved, and usually just eats bread and preserved meat, maybe some potatoes if he boils them and maybe some cheese if he’s visited the market in the town and managed to trade some of his carvings or game for it.

Somehow, Connor makes a delicious smelling stew from Hank’s supplies, full of meat and last season’s potatoes, and even scrounges up some dried herbs and wrinkly looking carrots from the Gods know where.

They sit at the table, Hank refusing to be embarrassed about having to move heaps of junk and dirty plates so Connor can have a clear space to put his bowl. Thankfully Hank had gotten bored enough a few weeks ago and made another chair to go with his, so Connor has somewhere to sit as well. Even Sumo gets his own bowl of steaming, thick stew, and he gobbles greedily at his treat in his spot in front of the fire.

Hank digs in with a quick thanks, and watches curiously as Connor bows his head over his food and says something that sounds like a prayer in that strange, lilting language before picking up his spoon.

The stew tastes as good as it smells. Hank eats heartily and goes for seconds, finishing two bowls before Connor has even finished his one.

“What did you put in there to make it taste that good? Some funky elf voodoo or somethin’?” Hank rubs his full stomach and then uses his shirt to wipe away any stew that had made its way into his beard.

“Just the seasoning you had,” Connor says after he swallows his bite. “It’s not my best, but I worked with what I could. I’m glad you like it.” He looks pleased, smiling down into his bowl.

Hank snorts. “It’s fucking delicious. Your best must be a five course meal fit for king then.”

“Something like that,” Connor takes another bite, and then laughs as Sumo lets out a loud, happy dog burp from his spot in front of the fire.


	2. deep snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> connor's trying everything, hank's oblivious and sumo has the worst timing

The storm shows no sign of letting up during the night. Hank offers Connor the bed, but the elf declines, explaining that elves don’t actually need to sleep that much. Hank shrugs and climbs under his furs, gaze a little hazy from the liquor he’d drunk, and falls asleep to the fading vision of a slim figure sitting in front of his fire.

Hank wakes up to Sumo’s dog breath in his face.

“Eurgh, Sumo, bad dog,” Hank grumbles, pushing Sumo’s furry face away.

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor chirps from his spot in front of the fire, something sizzling in a pan. The storm continues to rage outside. “I’m just about done making breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Hank mumbles, blearily sitting up and wiping dog drool from his face. 

“Yes. Come sit, it’ll only be a minute or two.”

The air in the cabin is warm from the fire being stoked already, so Hank has no problem getting out of bed. He manages to get to his table with only two massive yawns, and drops into his chair, rubbing at his eyes. Damn, what is the time? The storm outside is making it impossible to tell the time of day. Hank has a sneaking suspicion that it’s earlier than he’s ever gotten up at.

A plate is placed in front of him. Fried slices of potatoes and a slab of toasted bread, covered in butter from Hank’s supply. There’s even some fried carrots, probably the leftovers of what Connor managed to scrounge up last night, and some of Hank’s sausages, fried as well.

It’s a finer sight than Hank’s seen in a while. Not much for talking in the morning, he just grunts his thanks and digs in.

Connor doesn’t seem to mind his grumpiness and eats his food at a more sedate pace. His plate is mostly carrots, and a little bit of bread and potato and sausage. His serving is a lot smaller than Hank’s.

When Connor sees him looking, the elf smiles. “Elves don’t need to eat as much as humans.”

Hank stabs a sausage with his knife. “You don’t sleep, you don’t eat. What else don’t you do, piss?”

“I can assure you, elves urinate just the same as humans do,” Connor states with good humour. “We even defecate as well.”

“Eurgh, Connor, too much information.”

The elf shrugs, finishing chewing a carrot. “You asked.”

Hank finishes his breakfast quickly and washes it all down with a mug of hot water Connor had placed beside his plate as well. The elf has even done something to the water, it tastes vaguely herby and warms Hank’s stomach. Hank looks down at it suspiciously, but when he doesn’t drop dead after the first mouthful, shrugs and downs it all. 

When he sits back he finally realises that something is different. He looks around his cabin, blinking.

“It’s clean.”

Connor puts his fork down. “I got restless during the night. I wasn’t in the right mood to meditate, so I cleaned instead.”

Connor has swept, all the dog fur and dirt and food crumbs gone from the wooden floor, and even dusted. The cobweb up in the top right corner that Hank had even started taking a liking to, it had been there so long, is gone. He’d sorted everything that had been cluttering up Hank’s table as well, things back in their spot on the shelves, and all of Hank’s dirty dishes and utensils that he usually just wiped clean on his shirt had been washed properly as well. Some things were still dirty, the weather needing to clear up before the fur rugs could be beaten outside and Hank’s dirty clothes washed, but Connor had at least gathered them up and put them in a neat pile.

But something’s missing from its place.

“Where’s my stone?” Hank stands up, hands shaking, the world narrowing in his vision, “where is it? If you’ve fucking thrown it away I’ll-”

“Do you mean the greenstone?”

“Yes I fucking mean that stone what other stone do I have around here-”

“I polished it and put it on the windowsill-” Hank strides over to the window and snatches up, the little gem sitting reassuringly in his palm. Hank breathes out carefully, feeling his heart settle.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Connor apologises from behind him. “It was covered in soot, so I cleaned it and thought it would look lovely near the window. It catches the light beautifully.”

Hank turns it over in his palm, running his eyes over the now sparkling surface. He thought he’d be mad that Connor had cleaned it, but he’s not. He drops it into his breast pocket, over his heart, and says, “just don’t touch it again.”

Connor tilts his head, blinking. “I won’t.”

~~~

The snow needs clearing off the roof before it gets too heavy and collapses it. Hank bundles up, not saying a word to Connor, and heads out.

The snow and wind are horrendous, pushing and pulling at Hank as he grabs his rake and prods at the roof. It only takes a few minutes to clear the heaviest of it, but at that point the exposed tip of his nose and his fingers have gone red and numb from the cold. He heads back inside, his clothes immediately beginning to steam in the heat.

Connor’s sitting by the fire, giving Sumo’s tummy a thorough rub. The dog’s tail is wagging and his back legs twitching happily, and his face is nothing short of blissful. For the first time in years he doesn’t get up to great Hank as he comes in.

“Traitor,” Hank grunts, collapsing into his chair to warm himself up, holding his hands up to the heat. Obviously feeling guilty, Sumo rolls over and lumbers over to Hank, putting his head in Hank’s lap and looking sorry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbles, giving his ears a rub. “You know I’m just a big softie. Can’t stay mad at you.”

“He’s a lovely dog,” Connor says tentatively.

“He’s family,” Hank grunts.  _ The only family I have left _ . He clears his throat. “Thanks for cleaning, by the way. You didn’t have to do it out of a misplaced sense of gratitude or nothin’. Any good man would’ve done what I did.”

“I’m not sure they would’ve,” Connor says bluntly, his head tilted slightly to the side, a habit Hank is quickly catching onto. He’s beautiful in the firelight, warm and almost glowing, the clean brown curls of his almost golden in the light. Hank finds him hard to look at. Or much too easy.

“I wanted to clean, anyway,” Connor continues, leaning back on his palms, Hank’s shirt falling from his shoulder. “If I’m going to be here until the snow stops, I want the place to at least be habitable.”

Hank tears his gaze away from the freckles dotting Connor’s shoulder, the teasing hint of pink nipple on his chest. It’s only been a night, but Connor’s bruises and cuts look almost healed. Elves must heal quicker than humans as well. 

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.”

Connor raises an elegant eyebrow. “I found seventeen dead spiders in Sumo’s bed. I counted.”

Hank rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe it was that bad.”

The elf makes a sassy sound that Hank narrows his eyes at. Smiling innocently, Connor folds his legs, spreading his thighs and crossing his ankles. Hank definitely doesn’t take a longer look than necessary. 

“You live alone,” Connor states.

“With Sumo,” Hank corrects, giving the mentioned dog a good head pat.

“With Sumo,” Connor repeats, “but don’t you have any family? A wife? Husband? Children?”

Hank doesn’t look up from where he’s playing with Sumo’s ears. “Nope.”

Connor sits up off his hands. “I find it strange that you don’t have a spouse. Aren’t human males normally married at this point? You’re very handsome, so that isn’t the problem.”

Hank’s taken aback by the statement, cheeks flushing under his unruly beard. “Are elves blind or something as well? But- I used to. Have a wife. That is. She left.”

Connor’s curious expression falls. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Happened a long time ago. I’m over it.” And it’s the truth, Hank is. Bella had been a nice girl, but Hank had only married her after he’d gotten her pregnant with Cole. When the thing keeping them together was gone, she hadn’t even said goodbye. Hank isn’t sorry; he had been in a bad place at that point in time. He’s not sure what he would’ve done to her after what she’d let happen. What he’d let happen. 

“And no wife afterwards?”

“Was too busy with the King’s Guard to woo anyone.” Hank had actually left at that point, but he doesn’t want to talk about why he hadn’t courted anyone afterwards. The wound’s too fresh, and probably always will be. “And then I turned into fat old hermit, so no, no wife.”

“You’re not fat, Hank,” Connor says. “In fact, I find your size quite pleasing. Elven figures tend to all lean one way, humans come in many sizes and are much more intriguing. Your height and breadth are rather agreeable to me.”

_ Agreeable. What the fuck does that even mean? _ Connor says it with such a straight face as well, that Hank doesn’t know how to take it. So he just says with a reddening face, “elves are damn weird. I’m not attractive in any way by human standards. Too hairy.”

“Humans are stupid then,” Connor says, “I like your hair and beard as well.”

Okay, too many compliments at once, Hank can’t take this. He heaves himself out of his chair to pour himself a drink and settle at the table to do some whittling.

~~~

The storm rages on. Hank braves the weather only when he needs to, to grab more firewood, let Sumo out to do his business or rake more snow off the roof. Otherwise he spends the days cooped up inside with Sumo and Connor.

Funnily enough, Hank doesn’t mind the elf’s constant presence. Connor doesn’t natter away or try to fill the silence needless conversation, he’s quiet, and thoughtful, with a dry sense of humour that Hank actually enjoys. The cooking definitely helps as well. Hank would’ve thought that living by himself for six years would’ve rendered him unable to deal with someone other than Sumo for an extended period of time, but Hank starts to find Connor’s companionship pleasant, almost comfortable.

Except for the fact that Connor seems to have no sense of modesty whatsoever.

Hank wakes up on the third day of the storm to find he’s not the only one in his bed. And the body next to him is certainly not Sumo.

He blinks up at the wooden rafters for a second, wondering what in the  _ hells _ is going on, he hasn’t woken up to another person in his bed in years. He turns to the side, blinking at the unruly mop of brown curls peeking out from under the furs.

“Uh,” he rasps, voice rough from sleep. Gathering courage, he lifts up the covers.

Sleepy brown eyes blink up at him, Connor’s face sleep flushed under his freckles and beauty spots.

Hank’s kind of dumbfounded. “What are you doing?”

Connor yawns, tongue pink in his mouth. “Trying to sleep.”

“Thought elves didn’t sleep.”

“I said we didn’t need to sleep as often. We still need adequate rest to function, Hank.” And then he snuggles closer. Hank goes stiff when he feels the long, lean line of Connor’s body press along his side, warm and inviting.

“Uh-” Hank puts his hand on Connor’s hip, not sure whether he’s intending to push him away or pull him closer, and goes bright red when all he feels is smooth, soft skin under his palm.

“Are you naked?!”

“Yes,” Connor states. 

Hank falls out of the bed.

The floor is hard on his back and side as he crashes into it. Hank groans, rubbing his hip as Connor peers down at him. “That was rather over dramatic, Hank.”

“What did you expect! You’re naked in my bed!”

Connor’s eyebrows rise. “Is this another human hang up? I wasn’t going to sleep in my clothes; it’s uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to cuddle me!”

“You’re warm,” Connor shrugs. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you upset. Elves often sleep unclothed together.”

Hank heaves himself up off the floor before Sumo can start licking his face with his morning doggy breath. “Damn elves,” he grunts. “Look, if you’re gonna sleep in my bed, just- put some pants on or something, Gods.” 

“Got it.”

~~~

Connor’s wounds heal quickly. Before long he’s unwrapping the bandages around his wrists, revealing only slightly pink skin, and that awful bite mark high on his shoulder has faded completely.

Hank marvels at it. “Shit, are elves bad at anything? You don’t need to sleep, you don’t need to eat, you hardly feel the cold, you’ll probably live forever unless someone kills you and you heal quicker than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Connor smile a little, inspecting his wrists. “To be honest, I find my kind are rather delicate. Humans are much more resilient.”

“Are you kidding me? You were covered in wounds only a few days ago, and now you hardly have a scar to show for it!”

Connor drops his wrists into his lap, idly massaging them. “A big enough emotional shock can kill an elf. A broken heart, captivity, mental or physical abuse, depression. Humans suffer the same, but they can live on if they choose to.”

Hank’s brows raise. “A broken heart?”

Connor nods. “Yes. That is why elves don’t enter relationships lightly. Some choose not to take a lover their entire lives. But it’s a very lonely existence.”

“Sounds kind of cowardly to me,” Hank says, and then winces.

But Connor isn’t offended. If he is, he doesn’t show it. “That’s one way of looking at it, yes. We can be a very cautious people, almost to a fault. And we struggle with change.”

Hank grunts. “I’m familiar. Men can’t take someone with a different opinion or way of life from them. Scares them to bits, even if they like to think they’re tough.” He considers Connor, sitting cross legged in his customary place in front of the fire. “You don’t seem like the kind of elf to be scared of a little change though.”

Connor tilts his head. “I don’t?”

Hank leans back in his chair. “You’ve taken to living cooped up with an old human man and his dog pretty quickly.”

“I’m young,” Connor shrugs. “I imagine I’ll get as suspicious and grouchy as my elders in a couple centuries, give or take.”

“How old are you exactly?” Connor doesn’t look ridiculously young, Hank would place him maybe in his mid, maybe late twenties if he was human.

“Almost one hundred and thirty three.”

Hank’s eyes almost bug out. “You’re over a century old?!”

“It’s young by elf standards. We reach maturity at around one hundred years. Our eldest is over a millenia.” 

“Gods,” Hank runs a hand over his beard. “Living for a millenia. No wonder you people are slow to accept change. One human lifetime is like a quick lunch break for you.”

Connor laughs quietly, his eyes crinkling up in the corners, dimples creasing his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire. Hank has to look away before he embarrasses himself by staring. “A little longer than that, Hank.” Conversation lapses for a moment as Hank absorbs the fact that Connor is older than him and still looks like  _ that _ , and Sumo lumbers over from his water bowl to drape himself over Connor’s lap. The elf takes Sumo not inconsiderable weight graciously, like he does everything, and rubs Sumo’s sides. 

“You said you were in the King’s Guard,” Connor prompts after he moves from Sumo’s sides to scritch behind his big floppy ears. 

“Yeah, I did,” Hank mutters. “Was lieutenant of a company for a couple years until I got too old and prickly and moved out here to be a hermit with Sumo.” That’s not really the whole story, but Hank doesn’t want to get into that. He’s in a good mood.

“Lieutenant. That’s a prestigious position.”

Hank scoffs. “Didn’t feel like that. Lost some good men, made some hard decisions when my captain was absent. Thought I loved it, but in the end it just made me fucking miserable.”

Connor does his little head tilting thing again, fingers moving constantly in Sumo’s fur. The dog looks like he’s in heaven, drooling over Connor’s thigh. “I think you were probably a very good lieutenant, loyal to your men and your cause. Your men would’ve loved you.”

“Not in the end, they didn’t,” Hank grunts, Connor’s expression falling as he gets up out of his chair and heads for his pantry. “I think I’ll try my hand at cooking tonight. Gotta warn you though, it ain’t gonna be nothing like your fancy cooking.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” Connor smiles brightly, and Hank mutters “ _ suck up” _ under his breath.

~~~

Hank wakes to the absence of sound. Yawning, he sits up in bed, rubbing at his sleep crusted eyes.

“Good morning,” Connor murmurs from the window. Hank peers up at him, blinking. The elf smiles at him, and behind him soft snow is falling gently through the glass. “The storm has finally broken.”

“Thank fuck,” Hank grunts, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and groaning as he stands. He eats breakfast at the table with the elf, dipping bread into leftover stew, and marvels at how used he’s gotten to waking up to warm meals and a stoked fire and gentle brown eyes.

After breakfast he layers up and ventures outside to assess the damage. Sumo bounds out before him, plowing through the thick snow and panting happily, finally able to stretch his legs after days stuck inside. 

A soft sigh of relief has Hank turning around from where he’d been making his own trail through the snow. Connor’s standing in front of the closed door, his head tipped back and eyes closed in pleasure as snowflakes softly catch at his eyelashes. Hank’s mouth drops open when he realises that Connor is only wearing Hank’s thin shirt and pants, and standing barefoot  _ on top of the snow _ .

“How in the hells-” Hank mutters. Connor must hear him, opening his eyes and grinning brightly at the flabbergasted human. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold.

“Funky elf voodoo,” he explains.

Huffing a laugh, Hank shakes his head and tries to forget the curl of Connor’s smile. “Come and use your funky elf powers to fix my cabin.”

“Whatever you want, Hank,” Connor practically purrs. Hank blames the redness at the tips of his ears on the cold.

~~~

With Connor’s help the damage is fixed quickly. The elf easily clabers up onto Hank’s roof, surefooted and limber, and pushes the heavy branch off without breaking a sweat. He patches up any broken wood with a hammer and nails that Hank passes up and when he’s finished, leaps down and lands lightly in the snow. Hank almost has a heart attack, but Connor just smiles and blows that ever present cowlick out of his eyes as Hank huffs and goes back to chopping up the fallen branch.

The elf perches up on the wonky fence lining Hank’s cabin and watches him swing his axe, Hank watching him back out of the corner of his eye. Connor looks strangely transfixed, eyes blinking slowly and lips slightly parted, a light flush from the cold over his cheeks. 

“You alright there?” Hank asks, planting the head of the axe in the snow and leaning on the handle, taking a break for a bit to catch his breath. “Cold finally getting to ya?” He looks pointedly at Connor’s still bare toes.

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” Connor smiles, wriggling his toes. “Why do you ask?”

Hank shrugs, picking up his axe again. “You were just looking a bit like you were joining the fairies. Thought I’d pull you out of it before they stole your wits.”

“I can assure you, I’m definitely very present,” Connor smiles, tilting his head. “I was just enjoying watching you.”

The redness that spreads over the back of Hank’s neck has nothing to do with the frigid temperature. He brings the axe down, splitting the thick branch with a grunt of effort.

“What? Watching an old man like me huff and puff and sweat like a pig while he tries to cut up a twig?”

“That is not a twig, Hank,” Connor corrects, slipping down off his perch and stepping soundlessly over the snow. “And watching you exert yourself is very pleasing. You have very lovely shoulders.”

Hank brings down the axe again just to hide the flush over his face. “Connor, you are so fucking strange, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Quite often, actually.” The elf is standing right next to him now. “Your hair is coming out of it’s tie.”

“Oh.” Hank hacks the blade of the axe halfway into the branch and leaves it there to reach up for his hair, but suddenly Connor is close, stepping up so they are chest to chest. Hank can only watch dumbly as Connor reaches up over his shoulders and pulls his hair tie out, Hank’s grey hair falling down around his shoulders.

“Connor-” He tries, but the elf ignores him, brown eyes guileless as slender fingers gather up the strands of Hank’s hair and swiftly tie them together at the back of Hank’s head. 

“There,” Connor says quietly. Everything around them is still and silent, as if the forest is holding its breath. Connor’s eyes are soft and bottomless as he looks up at Hank, his lips pink and plump, the scatter of freckles over his flushed cheeks charming. Hank feels like he’s getting lost in them.

Connor reaches up, brushes a stray lock of hair behind Hank’s ear. Hank takes a breath, heart pounding in his chest, and then Connor is going up on his toes and his doe brown eyes are getting closer and-

_ “Boof! _ ”

Hank startles backwards as Sumo bursts through the treeline, white going everywhere as the big dog plows through the deep snow. The dog bounds up happily and drops a dead rabbit at Hank’s feet, parking his butt down and looking up at Hank expectantly.

“Good boy,” Hank praises, a little weakly, crouches down to rub Sumo’s ears. “Good, good boy, that looks like a very tasty rabbit, you did a good job Sumo.”

Sumo pants happily at the praise and Hank looks up as Connor crouches down next to him. Something Hank’s his chest tightens as he watches Connor give Sumo’s sides a thorough rub; it feels almost like disappointment. 

“It does look like a very delicious rabbit. Well done, Sumo!” Connor adds to Sumo’s praise, and nothing on his face gives any indication that he feels anything other than delight at Sumo’s catch.

Hank looks away and straightens up, clearing his throat. “I’ll finish up here if you wanna go and skin and gut our dinner?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Connor smiles.

~~~

After a delicious dinner consisting of fresh rabbit stew and Hank’s dwindling potato supplies, Hank settles in his chair front of the fire to do his customary whittling.

After a while Connor finishes cleaning up and stretches out on the rug in front of the fire next to Sumo, using the dog’s belly as a pillow. He has one of Hank’s old, battered books on war strategies held open in one of his hands, the other one rests on his stomach, skin soft and golden in the firelight from where Hank’s shirt has ridden up on him.

It’s a distracting sight. Hank doesn’t make as much progress on his brown bear as he’d hoped he would, too scared he would take off a finger if he whittled at his normal pace. He gives up right after Connor rolls over onto his side, facing away from Hank, and the curve of his hip is bared as the too big waistband of his pants slips down, the dimples above his plump ass pronounced in the shadows of the fire. Hanks eyes catch on that damn beauty spot on the top of Connor’s left butt cheek and that’s it, he can’t concentrate like this.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, clearing his throat as he pulls himself out of his chair. Connor sits up and Hank hurriedly looks away as the neckline of his shirt falls off his shoulder. Gods Connor needs to get some clothes that fit or Hank is going to go fucking insane.

“Goodnight, then,” Connor tilts his head, licking his lips. “It’s rather cold tonight, even with the fire. Would you like some company in bed?”

“Oh, nah, you can keep Sumo, he makes a great pillow. ‘Night, Connor.” Hank yawns and heads for bed, and it doesn’t occur to him until he’s on the edge of sleep that maybe Connor didn’t mean Sumo when he asked Hank if he wanted company in bed, but it’s already too late, he’s slipping into slumber.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeeeesus hank catch a clue faster haha poor connor is going nuts how much more obvious can he get HE CLIMBED INTO YOUR BED NAKED FOR FUCKS SAKE

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on twitter, @silvyri


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